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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357391">Don't Wish Away My Tragedies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sid_pinetree/pseuds/sid_pinetree'>sid_pinetree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Chapter 2: now with comfort, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Drowning, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Only one person actually dies, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), lots of death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:41:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sid_pinetree/pseuds/sid_pinetree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The mesmerizing beats of carnival music echoed through the air, mixing with the tantalizing yet revolting scents of fried treats. The air felt crisp, cool but it didn’t sting. There was a pressure on his arm, and when Bruce looked to his side, Dick was there, nuzzling his head into Bruce’s shoulder.<br/>...<br/>The idyllic scene didn't last long.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Batfamily Members &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I came into this fandom with crack and now I present pain. If you thinking any tags should be added tell me in the comments.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The mesmerizing beats of carnival music echoed through the air, mixing with the tantalizing yet revolting scents of fried treats. The air felt crisp, cool but it didn’t sting. There was a pressure on his arm, and when Bruce looked to his side, Dick was there, nuzzling his head into Bruce’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce gazed down fondly at his boy, his son, his precious eldest. When was the last time they had been this close? He couldn’t remember. Bruce blinked and was startled to find Dick staring up at him, smiling softly as the music transitioned into a Taylor Swift song, some catchy thing that Bruce couldn’t name but knew that Dick had blared through the walls of the manor on repeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatcha thinking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce chuckled awkwardly. “Nothing really. Just what the tabloids would say if they saw you clinging onto me like this. I can see it now. ‘Bruce Wayne and Ex-Ward Richard Grayson Caught in an Intimate Embrace at the Amusement Mile.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick pulled away and shoved him, still smiling brightly. “That’s way too long for a title.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, is that so? Then what scandalous yet concise title will be causing PR headaches tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughed and grabbed Bruce’s arm again, returning to his original position.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care what they’ll say or the trouble it’ll cause PR. You’re my dad. I think I should be allowed to hug my dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce sucked in a deep breath, heart beating rapidly in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My dad.</span>
  </em>
  <span> How after all these years and nine or so children, the words could still leave him breathless, Bruce didn’t know. Maybe it was the casual way it would slip into conversation, even though so often his children would call him Bruce, B, or Batman. Perhaps it was because, despite all these years, Bruce was still surprised that he was no longer alone, that he had a family after all he had lost that night, in that bleak alleyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment was broken, and the music seemed to slow. Gotham’s gloom had crept back in while Bruce had been pondering. Dick was looking at him, nervous and oddly saddened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go to work now, B. But I have something I need you to hold onto for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The key had changed, the major bleeding away into the minor key. Bruce held his hand out and Dick pressed something long and thin into his palm, looking hard into Bruce’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick looked like the world was crumbling but he was just going to work. He was only going back to Bludhaven. Everything was fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodbye. I wish you could have saved me,” Dick whispered, his voice rising above the clamor as he slipped into the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dick, what---” he murmured as his eyes slid down to the object in his hand, a very familiar object. The blade was small, polished, and glittering, little engraved owls twittering mockingly at the hilt. Acid pooled in his stomach as his eyes scanned the crowd frantically for Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he cried as he began pushing his way through the crowd. For a moment Dick appeared, turning back to him briefly, haunting golden eyes flickering to his before melting back into the crowd. Bruce pushed and dodged, reaching desperately for Dick, constantly cut off by the sea of people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>DICK!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The people didn’t have eyes, only mocking grins, and cold smirks as that </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn</span>
  </em>
  <span> nursery rhyme came pouring from their lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beware the court of owls, that watches all the time,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Word of them or they’ll send the Talon for your head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“NO!” Bruce roared, sprinting through the crowd, no longer caring who he knocked over. He had to get to Dick. They couldn’t have him. He wasn’t their Gray Son. He was his son. They couldn’t have his son. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was almost there. He could see Dick. His hand was almost on his shoulder when he tripped, a feather falling in front of his eyes as he collided with the dirt. His eyes closed as pain flooded his senses but when he opened his eyes he was lying on the asphalt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was on his feet in an instant, calling for Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything okay, old man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes blown wide, he turned to the voice. It was Jason, Jason looking at him concerned behind the hood of a beat-up car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jason, something’s wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll say. Coming all the way down to Park Row to see little old me, in the middle of the day. Don’t you have things to do? A job?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jay, please. This is serious. I wasn’t here a second ago---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason rolled his eyes and moved back behind the hood, tinkering with the engine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should’ve known you hadn’t come to see me. No one wants street trash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jason---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated when Jason referred to himself that way. Just as he hated it when at the society parties the socialites had whispered thief, scum, and slurs about both his boys before Jason died. How some of them still had the audacity to do so, the same human garbage who had wailed their condolences as he had to bury his son when he knew what vitriol spewed from their cruel mouths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated when Jason parroted their words, as he always did these days, peppering himself with the derogatory labels as if that could hide how they stung. As if the words didn’t matter, as if Jason said them enough Bruce would admit he believed them. As if Bruce would say them to his little boy, slamming the final nail in the wall, for a portrait that revealed that Bruce didn’t love Jason, his son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should say it, say that he loved Jason but those three little words wouldn’t erase the pain or heal the insecurity because the insecurity had existed even when he had said it all the time. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s didn’t fix anything if Jason couldn’t believe them and Bruce didn’t know how he could make Jason see how much he loved him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s the problem? Besides the fact, your car is broken down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My car?” Bruce questioned slowly, startled to notice that the car Jason was working on was one of his cars. But he hadn’t driven here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your</span>
  </em>
  <span> car. How out of it are you? Were you drinking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce didn’t bother answering and stumbled towards the car, running his hands over the door, checking if it was real. It felt so solid. But so had Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a deep breath. Was this real? The sound of dripping water hit his ears but it wasn’t raining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jason, is there some sort of leak?” he asked, walking towards Jason. Jason turned to him and Bruce rushed forward, grabbing Jason by his shoulders. His skin was pale, eyes glazed over, lips blue, and water dripping down from him. He opened his mouth to speak and a cascade of water flowed from his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t find me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?!” Didn’t find him. What did that mean?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what happens to kids who see what they shouldn’t, bossman?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some get shot. Some get stabbed but most of them end up in Gotham Harbor one way or another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he moaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” the bloated corpse of Jason Todd snarled. “With or without Batman I die. Did you think wishing the tragedy that made you away would make the world a better place, Bruce? You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wishing away… He hadn’t. He didn’t. His parents… were they? They couldn’t be. This wasn’t possible, it wasn’t real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran again. This time away from his son. As was a familiar dance with this son. He wanted to pull Jason close but this Jason wasn’t real. He ran, turning around a corner, surprised to find himself faced with the white lights of a ballroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was facing the glass doors, standing chilled on a balcony. A throat cleared behind him, and he turned, finding himself faced with Tim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Bruce.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce stumbled forward and grasped Tim by his shoulders. “Tim. Tim. Dick and Jason! The Court took Dick. Jason drowned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It rushed out in an incoherent mess. Goddamnit, he was Batman. He needed to pull it together. Tim tilted his head, grabbed Bruce’s hands, and gently removed them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t help you, Bruce,” he smiled, the curve of his lips stretching like a fractured stained glass window. “Dick disappeared into the Court and Jason died. You and I, we never knew each other. Not in any way that mattered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim drifted the edge of the balcony, taking in the glittery lights of Gotham. Bruce hesitantly placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and was shocked by how solid it felt. Tim looked at him, pained but quickly looked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Tim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine. It’s just… I---” Tim, broke off his voice cracking like he was holding back a sob. “I was just so lonely in that house. I couldn’t take it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. No. Nooooo. Tim had come into his life at one of his lowest points, compelled by an unwavering faith in Batman and Robin, he had saved Bruce from joining Jason in the grave. It couldn’t be. Had Tim harbored feelings similar to Bruce? Was that why he had understood Bruce’s actions in those awful six months as manifestations of suicidal behavior? No. Bruce was taking this out of proportion. Tim had simply ran away, that was all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You understand, don’t you?” Tim murmured, his hand rising to his throat, his fingers drawing attention to the ring of bruises around his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tim!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim smiled, teeth seemingly sharped as cocked his entire head… his neck was broken. “Don’t you, Bruce?” he repeated, anger and sadistic pleasure coating his tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce pushed Tim away. No, he pushed the fake Tim away because this wasn’t real. None of this was real. He had just got caught up in it. These scenarios were the fabrications of someone cruel. He was drugged. He had to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim laughed as Bruce stumbled away, as he hit the glass of the door. The door shattered. and Bruce fell through, the laughter continuing as he plummeted through the inky black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hit the ground with a thud and Tim’s cruel laughter ceased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crawled at the rough carpet beneath his fingers. He opened his eyes looking down at the dirty red carpet. He crouched and kicked off, propelling himself into a standing position. It was the hotel room where he had met Damian for the first time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Father,” Bruce heard from behind him. Damian looked tired but he appeared completely unblemished. There were no little knicks on his hands from his katana, no little scars on his face. He wondered if all of his scars would be gone underneath the black turtleneck he was wearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to grab Damian and inspect him but he wasn’t ready for whatever no horror it would bring. A world without Batman, what would it mean for this son?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if he had spoken, Damian answered, seemingly indifferent. “You know what it would mean. What use would Bruce Wayne, who grew up with two happy parents, have for training with the League of Shadows? What interest would Talia al Ghul have in Bruce Wayne, a simple billionaire amongst a score of Gotham billionaires?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce swallowed roughly, mouth numb, as he whispered. “You don’t exist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hand the man a prize. I’d say what else would you expect from the World’s Greatest Detective but that title doesn’t belong to you anymore,” Damian snarled, tears gathering in his eyes. “Why would you wish it away? Although I suppose you’d wish me away even if you couldn’t have my grandparents back. I am, after all, the result of one of the worst things that happened to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce felt cold, staring at his son as Damian’s fingers began to fade. It wasn’t the worst. He couldn’t remember it. He drank some wine and woke up in the morning. He could almost pretend it never happened, if not for Damian. Prior to Damian’s appearance in his life, that is what he always told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t remember. It didn’t happen. You can’t remember. It didn’t happen. It doesn’t matter.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why would Damian say this? Had he ever given any sign, said anything that implied he resented Damian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He never wanted to hurt his children but sometimes it felt like all he did was hurt them. That even when he thought he was doing everything right, he still hurt them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I would never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“DON’T LIE! I am a constant reminder of how she hurt you, what she wanted you to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce gripped Damian’s shoulder’s tight as more of the boy began to vanish, bit by bit. He pulled him to his chest as if that would stop him from vanishing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true, Damian. I love you. I love you. Please don’t go!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he was holding nothing standing alone in one of the manor’s hallways. The family wing, except it was different. Every photograph replaced, every damage changed, every missing vase replaced with the same vase that should have still laid shattered in the landfill. He sprinted down the hall as it seemed to extend passing endless portraits of Martha and Thomas Wayne with a Bruce Wayne that had never had them at that age. He saw every gray that never grew. Every aging line that had never graced what should have been their unaging, never changing faces because they had died when he was eight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Bruce had been sixteen had lived half his life without them. At thirty-seven, he had almost lived three-decades without his parents, the parents that he had hardly known, whose vague memories and tragic deaths had started Batman. But they had not fueled Batman since a sad suicidal twenty-two-year-old had gone to the circus and found a robin in need of a nest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the end of the hall, he burst through the doors of the dining room. At the end of the table, sat Thomas Wayne, old in a way he could never be, reading a paper with a headline that shouldn’t exist. To his right sat Martha Wayne, her hair silver, looking distinguished by age as Alfred appearing the same as always poured her tea. They all turned to him, Martha looking confused and concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bruce, darling, whatever is the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stalked forward like the Bat, uncaring about his lack of suit. He grasped her shoulders, ignoring any guilt at his roughness, and yelled in the construct's face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The matter is you are dead,” he snarled, feeling sick to his stomach. “It was horrible and I used to wish it never happened but without it, I wouldn’t be who I am, or have my children. And I know it makes me a horrible son, but I would never trade my children for you. You’re gone and I don’t know what this is but you should never have come back like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face burnt with tears as he stared at Martha’s hurt face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bruce, have you been taking your medicine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to face Thomas, who was carefully reaching out to Bruce like he was approaching an injured animal. Alfred was quicker, pulling Bruce’s grip off Martha and away from Bruce. She was sobbing. It didn’t matter, no matter how much it stung because she wasn’t real. None of this was real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bruce, calm down. Everything will be alright.” Thomas said gently, coming closer as if to touch him. Bruce grabbed a knife from the table and held it defensively in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It is not all right! Because this isn’t real. I want to wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce turned and ran to the study, never stopping until he reached the grandfather clock. He frantically turned the arms to 10:47 but it didn’t open. Why wouldn’t the damn thing open? He grabbed the clock and heaved it onto the ground, where the glass shattered and the wood splitter. The entrance to the Batcave was gone as if it had never been there in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maneuvering around the broken clock, he headed to the window, opened it, and jumped out. If the entrances inside the manor didn’t exist, he could always get there through the well. He pulled the grate up, lowered himself down, and then let go, hoping to fall into the Batcave and not another nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He landed in the cave, but it was not the Batcave. The little ways the family had tamed it over the years had vanished like the entrances in the manor. The road that passed by the well entrance was gone, as well as the fake cave features that had been designed to distract anyone who could have stumbled up the well entrance. He ran through the cave, bats soaring overhead, flying away from him. There was nothing to suggest anyone had ever been here. As he reached where the computer was supposed to be he tripped over a stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes again, he was in an alley. A rotten smell rose unpleasantly in the air, one that was uncomfortably familiar. Mixed with the smell of human shit and spilled alcohol, the heavy scent of decomposing flesh beckoned him to turn. To his right, was a slumped emancipated figure of a young girl. There were wounds all over her body, indicating she had not starved to death but had faced off against an enemy. Not an enemy with a bat but a skilled fighter. The girl’s hair was short and greasy. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was because so far he had been shown the violent ends of his children, and there were only two left: Cassandra and Duke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached towards the body, hoping, desperately praying it was some other girl. He tilted the face upwards and almost vomited. It was Cassandra, starved, broken, and dead but it was his daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cassie, no. Honey, who did this to you?” he murmured to her, but it was obvious. There were no signs of struggle. Lady Shiva had come to die but had slain a little girl who never wanted to play executioner. He ran his hand down her hair as if comforting her, even though he knew there was no one to comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The body began to crumble. Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and now Cassandra. He stood up and took a deep breath before closing his eyes. It was time for Duke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was in a small kitchen, no longer seen. Elaine, Doug, and Duke sat at their dinner table, laughing and joking. Their eyes were full of light and happiness as they spent time with each other. He had been expecting violence but was instead presented with Duke’s dream, of having his parents back from the throes of madness. But there had never been madness. Batman had created the Joker. Without Batman, there was no Joker to drive Duke’s parents mad. No rogues, only regular crime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was perhaps the most painful image of all. He was the reason his son’s parents couldn’t care for him anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>June 26th, 19xx</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was back in Park Row. Three figures were walking towards him, dressed in fine clothes. They were laughing and joking as they came closer and closer to Bruce.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws a gun and points it at the trio. Their laughter dies and the man pushes his son back, the little boy is only eight-years-old and he should not have to see this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gimme your pearls,” he hears himself say. He doesn’t give her much time to remove them before he shoots. The woman who is his mother and the little boy’s mother falls. The little boy screams, his father pushing him back, the face of his watch clear to the boy. Bruce’s second bullet hits the man, and his father is dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little boy falls to his knees, wailing, and Bruce brings up the gun, and even though he can’t control himself, he feels guilty as he shoots the boy, Bruce Wayne. And then the boy lays dead at Bruce’s hands. His parents lay dead at his hands. His children lay dead at his hands. Dick, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Duke, and Damian are all dead at his hands and will be dead. They will be dead and it will be his fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce closes his eyes one last time only to realize he is opening them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Batman!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” a synthesized voice shouts. He is strapped to a table and suddenly the Red Hood is next to him, yanking at the straps. “You’re alright. You’re going to be alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even through the synthesizer, he can hear how scared Jason looks. He wonders how long he’s been here. How does he look? How loud had his screams been? There is blood on Jason’s jacket, fresh and a slumped figure in the corner. Dr. Crane lays dead. Like he expected what he saw wasn’t real but he will not be alright. Not because Jason has killed again but because of what he saw and did in those horrible visions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Batman, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, say something please!” Jay’s voice cracks full of static. He sees the broken body of a fifteen-year-old. He sees the bloated corpse of his son. He sees all of them dead in a million different ways and he feels the weight of the gun as he shoots himself in the heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He will not be alright for a long time. He says nothing as Jay carries him past Dr. Crane. He says nothing as his kids put him in the car. He says nothing as he is hooked up in the Medbay. He says nothing because I’m sorry and I love you’s won’t take away the guilt, and nothing he does will ever feel like enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has brought all these beautiful children into his life and nothing he does will ever stop him from being responsible for how they will die, how he cannot hope to protect them, from the world, and themselves. From him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did not think I was going to write another chapter for this but TrikaLika's comment came at a time when I was feeling the muse. Sorry if it starts a little sad.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything for three days. His children weave in out of his bedroom, checking in on him. Dick’s eyes are damp as he sits down next to Bruce’s bed and carefully spoon feeds him oatmeal. He swallows it but he doesn’t deserve it. Dr. Crane’s last project had shown him Dick being taken away by the court if he never became Batman but he knows that isn’t true. Batman had stoked the gangs. If they weren’t so desperate maybe Maroni would never have sent Zucco to the circus. Maybe the Graysons wouldn’t have died. The maybe’s don’t really matter do they though because what matters is what he has done to Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has hurt Dick, his beautiful son. He has said awful things, things he didn’t mean that he never apologized for and yet Dick always came back. Dick always took care of him even though he was supposed to take care of Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim sits next to him during lunch and walks Bruce through what’s going on at Wayne Enterprise. Tim is so young but he does so much for Bruce. He had always down so much for Bruce. Bruce should do more for him, take care of Tim, make sure Tim knows that he wants him here outside of the services he provides. Why can’t he just tell Tim how much he loves him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around three, Duke comes in and does his homework by Bruce’s dresser. He reads his poetry to Bruce, reworking it as he reads it. His existence ruined Duke’s life and he can’t even fix it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian sleeps with Bruce. Bruce wonders if this Damian thinks Bruce doesn't love him because of where he came from.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason comes in and out of his room when the others aren’t there. He holds Bruce close and sobs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, please. Please, Dad. Come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why is he always hurting Jason?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass shows up on the third day, irritated and fresh from a flight. Her hair is shaggy, grown out since her last cut. Her eyes spark and she bares her teeth at him, as she stalks towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabs his head, her fingers clawing at his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Out! Out!”  she snarls into his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t move. She lets go and paces back and forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop! Stop! Stop… ugk…” she pops her hands in and out, looking for the word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Too sorry!” she claws at her chest. “Guilt does nothing. It just hurts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s right, of course. He tries to hold it back but he can’t. He finally cries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what time it is but he’s surrounded by concerned faces and worried “Bruce’s” as he chokes on sobs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I killed Crane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason and him are sitting on the patio, cooling cups of tea between them. Jason is dressed in daywear while Bruce sits rumpled, in sweatpants and a silk robe. Jason is looking at him like he expects him to start screaming at him. Bruce knows he should be mad but he isn’t. He feels numb. Jason killed Crane. He should be mad but he’s just tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s done is done,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason looks scared by this response. “What is wrong with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know. He… he doesn’t want to lose Jason again. “I’m so tired of this fight. When we fight about this, you always leave. I don’t want you to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t feel well. He feels worse than after his parents died. He covers his eyes but he knows Jason can tell he’s crying. Everything feels gray. He just wants to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason’s voice is trembling as he tells him that he needs help. “I... I don’t think you’re going to get better on your own this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows. He’s needed it for a long time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel like I’m failing my children.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The therapist asks him to elaborate. He has always been so detailed when it comes to reports but when it comes to his feelings it feels like he has no words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel like they’ve had to parent me more than I’ve parented them. I’m scared that I’ve made them feel like my love is conditional”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It shouldn’t be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Run it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sounds of typing cut off. “There’s nothing in his blood, Damian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There has to be something. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both jump when Bruce glides out of the shadows. He has actually bothered to shave today but he knows it's patchy. He had considered trying to clean it up but the razor had felt like he was holding the sky. He stares at them. Tim and Damian stare back, waiting for him to say something. He wants to say sorry but that’s all he says these days. It is as worthless as always.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dinner’s ready,” he says instead. He had almost forgotten that’s why he came down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father, I---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s sitting in front of the tv watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>How the Earth Was Made</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling as listless as he always does these days. He hasn’t been Batman in two months. His therapist had told him he needed a break and he didn’t miss it. He had told Dick not to go out as Batman and he hadn’t but he knew someone was. He wanted to ask but he felt that’s all he ever talked about with his kids. Fucking Batman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, B. How are things going?” Steph murmured as she joined him on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” he responded, even though the answer was “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had been mad at him the first couple of times she had come to see him but lately, she had been treating him as if he was made of glass. He certainly felt like it. He thinks Cass had talked to her about it but he really doesn’t know. She grabs his hand and it's freezing. He shudders, feeling more awake than usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go to the park, B.” He hums noncommittally. She’s dyed her tips purple. It suits her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, B. You need to go outside more.” His therapist had told him the same. He gets up, veering towards the garage once he’s out in the hallway. Stephanie grabs his shoulders and turns him back towards the family wing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get dressed first, big guy. We wouldn’t want to embarrass Damian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brucie Wayne usually wears suits pretty much everywhere he goes. Bruce doesn’t bother. He puts on a shirt that Dick bought him ages ago that says “A hug without u is just toxic” with mercury hovering above the words. He feels the beginning of a smile on his face when he sees it so he puts it on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughs when he sees him, throwing his arms around Bruce, trying to cover Bruce as if he was the taller one. Dick hands him a jacket and stuffs an imperfect beanie on his head that he recognizes as one that Tim had made when he had been on bed rest when he was fourteen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feeling better today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s surprised to note the “I don’t know” is turning into a “yes.” He hugs Dick back intensely and whispers “I love you” into his hair before departing for the garage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie and Damian are waiting for him at the Prius. Damian is in the back with Titus laid out on a blanket across the seats. Stephanie sits in the driver's seat and is chatting with Damian about his pets. He slips into the passenger seat next to her and Damian quiets, staring at Bruce.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” he tells Damian. Damian looks like he wants to say something else but he leans forward to squeeze Bruce’s shoulder, and whispers, “I as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steph glances between them and turns on the engine. He can’t remember if she has her license as a civilian so he asks her. Stephanie snorts and drives out of the garage without answering. He takes that to mean that his question was absurd and that she obviously has her license.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred drives him through this road twice a week to take him to his therapist but for the first time in months, he feels himself focus on the details. The trees are bare of leaves but the light catches the icicles in a way that makes his heart catch in his chest. It is beautiful now, in the late afternoon and he wonders how it would look as the sunrises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The park is practically empty and Stephanie finds them a lonely spot between a tree and a BMW to park. Damian adjusts Titus’ booties, his little red sweater, and the dog’s earmuffs for six minutes before they exit the car. The four of them walk quietly through the park, Titus bumping his head between them as he tries to linger behind to smell everything. Bruce scratches him behind the ears, pleased when the dog pushes his head into Bruce’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie and Damian leave Titus behind with him on a cold bench as Stephanie bullies Damian into helping her make a snowman. He zips down his jacket, taking in the chill as he looks down at his shirt. He smiles at the words as if reminding himself of why he wore it today before zipping it up again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian shoves snow into Stephanie’s face in response to something she said. She tackles him into the ground, crushing the beginning form of their snowman. They roll around laughing, snow sticking to their hair. Bruce closes his eyes trying to breathe in their happiness and fills a little bit lighter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jason and him are in the library this time. He’s dressed today and he’s managed to shave off all of his beard today. Jason is trying to pretend he is reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wuthering Heights</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he hasn’t turned a single page in five minutes. Bruce started reading an article in the National Geographic magazine he picked up but he had lost focus by the time he had reached the conclusion. It was an improvement and he was learning to be satisfied with the small steps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t it bother you, that I killed Crane?” Jason finally asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce closes his magazine and sets it aside. Jason has his novel closed and balanced precariously on his knee. His knee is bouncing uncharacteristically and Jason quickly catches the book every time it tries to go over his knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tongue makes a click as he opens his mouth but he doesn’t say anything quite yet. It does bother him that Jason killed Crane but it doesn’t exactly bother him that Crane’s dead. It bothers him a bit because Jason hadn’t killed anyone in six months before he killed Crane. It doesn’t bother him that the streak was broken but it bothers him that Jason is upset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” he starts. “And that is not conditional.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s practiced this a few times with his therapist but it is hard because feelings are never simple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sad that you felt you had to kill him. I know you have tried to stop killing, in part because of me. I never meant to make you feel that it was a condition you had to follow to be my son. You will always be my son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve realized that I’ve been unfair to you and your siblings, made you feel that your safety is worth less than the lives of others. Like you have had to choose between keeping your family and yourself safe, and my love. I would like it if you didn’t kill anyone Jason but I understand that sometimes you feel like you have to keep others safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason’s book hit the floor as he hunched over on himself. Bruce leaned over and delicately put his hand on Jay’s shoulder. “I love you, sweetheart. No matter what.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason lurched forward into Bruce and sobbed into Bruce’s turtleneck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to kill him. You were missing for three days and then he was standing over you and he was going to inject you again. I heard him say that this dose might kill you. I didn’t even shoot him. I just hit him too hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t known how Crane died. He had only known that Jason had killed him. He ran his fingers through Jay’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I’m okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jay just sobbed louder, probably because he knew it wasn’t completely true. But it would be true. Bruce would make it true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce carries Jay to bed that night and tucks him in like he did every night before Jason died. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He calls Lucius the next morning and tells him Tim won’t be coming in. Tim panics when he wakes up at nine but Bruce reassures him it's fine. It’s been months but he asks Tim if he wants to listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Welcome to Night Vale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tim pulls out the yarn, hands Bruce his knitting needles, while he grabs his crochet needle. Tim has gotten much better at this, he thought as he glanced at the cat beanie Tim was making. Cecil’s voice lulls over them as Bruce struggles through the second row on his scarf. He only had to start over twice before they got to the weather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Tim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Tim smirks at him, probably thinking about Leia and Han.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bites his lip. “I know what I saw in my head wasn’t real but I need to know…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim puts down his project and pauses the podcast, the song cutting off in the middle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweetheart, have you ever wanted to kill yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim’s face goes carefully blank and Bruce's heart clenches like he had said yes. Tim had basically said yes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you still want to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No… It was never like I was going to do it,” he fiddles with his needle. “But I put myself in situations where I knew I could die. And I didn’t care. Sometimes I would feel so relieved when I almost died.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I---” Tim cuts off suddenly. “I guess you want me to see a therapist now since you’re so big on it these days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you want to. I… think we should all see someone. I think it’s been a lot of help to me and I know our lifestyle has been hard on all of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim unpauses the podcast and leans back in his chair. Returning to his hat, he murmurs, “I’ll think about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s all he can ask for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He talks to his therapist a lot about the guilt he feels about Duke’s parents and how it connects to his feelings around Jason’s death and the attack on Barbara. He can’t hold himself responsible for the actions of others, especially when that guilt negatively impacts his relationship with his son. She asks him if he thinks Duke blames him for what happened to his parents. He knows logically the answer is no but his mind screams yes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is a conversation he will never have with Duke. Duke does not need the burden of Bruce’s guilt. Duke’s parent-teacher conference comes and Bruce doesn’t go. It’s not a good day. Bruce had been planning to go but he had woken up with this deep void in his chest. Not going doesn’t make it any better. Alfred goes in his place. When they get back from the school, Bruce is eating a slightly burnt fluffernutter that he had thrown together with more effort than it should have taken to make a sandwich.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did it go?” he asks, a bit of marshmallow caught on the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. My teacher says my grades are almost back up to where they were before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles, “I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Duke snorts covering his face. “You have peanut butter in your teeth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce offers what’s left of his sandwich to Duke. Alfred is appalled. He criticizes Bruce for passing on unhealthy eating habits to the kids. Duke grabs the sandwich and eats the rest of it in two quick bites, almost choking on it as it goes down. Alfred scolds him as if it is his fault that Duke inhaled his sandwich.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cass sits down with him as he monitors the comms. She picks up his mug, swirls the lukewarm liquid around, and inhales the scent. She takes a cautious sip and gags. She looks like she wants to dump the coffee on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make a mess for Alfred.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushes the mug away and climbs in his lap, wrapping his arms around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Going out soon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not quite yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods and rubs her head against him. He places his fingers in her hair in response and she hums, decidedly pleased. Her hair is kind of a mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haircut?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not even to clean it up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs. “You’re not good at that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He echoes her laugh because she’s right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lunch is a loud affair the next day. Cass switches around the food on his plate, exchanging his salami sandwich with two cucumber sandwiches with lots of cream cheese. Steph adds a waffle to his plate when she thinks he isn’t looking and he passes her the strawberry sauce as a thank you. Duke is trying to inhale his burger so he can leave the table. Jason and Damian are fighting over the last crepe over Tim’s sleeping head. Tim is half drooping out of his seat, leaving a half-finished waffle and banana on his plate. Dick is pouting over his salami sandwich. They are out of chocolate milk, unfortunately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good day.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry, it has been a while. The WIPs attacked, and I have been adding to all of them. I had no idea this one would get done first and if you were expecting more fun, I am so sorry.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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